


Thin Strips of Emotion

by Kataclysmic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, F/M, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Seasonal, Very Jossed, very old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 18:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kataclysmic/pseuds/Kataclysmic
Summary: Seasons bleed into one another, years pass, and still he loves her.





	Thin Strips of Emotion

**Author's Note:**

> This pic was originally written sometime ago, but as I've noticed platforms it had been posting on disappearing, I've decided to cross-post. Written for the very first dmhgficexchange.

i.

“I cannot name this  
I cannot explain this  
and I really don't want to  
just call me shameless”   
\- Shameless, by Ani DiFranco.

\--

Draco Malfoy was having the bad day to end all bad days. He had done it. He had bloody done it. Tried to kiss Granger. Oh, and hadn't _that_ ended well. Kicking at the footpath angrily, he marched away from her and Weasley's house.

Nine years ago, at the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts and after a rather vicious and enlightening session at the end of his father's wand, his alliances had shifted rather dramatically, though not so dramatically that he'd absorb himself in Dumbledore's little army. Instead, he'd had himself transferred to a school in Italy, learnt spells in their original Latin, and blissfully ignored the waves of the war that resounded throughout Europe, safe on the Mediterranean coast.

He apparated into Diagon Alley a week after the war officially ended, and his first glimpse of the country he'd been away from for eighteen months had almost been enough to send the young Malfoy heir back to Italy: Granger and Weasley kissing beneath the blooming branches of a blossom tree. He discovered, through word of mouth and back issues of the Daily Prophet, that the final battle had gone surprisingly well, there had been minimal casualties, and even Potter – the self-sacrificing idiot - had survived. Weasley and Granger had apparently fallen into each other at the end of it all and had been attached at the hip ever since.

Draco had better credentials than most with which he'd attended Hogwarts. Unlike many, he’d had nothing to distract him from his final studies, and he’d known two additional languages to boot. In fact, with the exception of Granger (and by that, he really shouldn't have been surprised), he'd had more job offers than anyone who stood along side him in the Sorting of Hogwarts First Years in 1991. While he had at one point feared his father's place among Voldemort's ranks might have hampered his chances, his obvious stance against the Death Eaters had repaired this damage.

It was no surprise, then, that he and Granger ended up working together in one of the most important Ministry departments after the war; the Department of International Magical Cooperation, helping ease the world-wide rifts that Voldemort had caused, and helping to promote the image of a safer Britain to the international wizarding world. The job had required long and difficult hours at first, and the constant sniping between the two of them had eventually proved too much, resulting in an initially grudging truce that began to blossom into a close and steady friendship, despite the protests of her fiancé and best friend.

The friendship developed while magical Britain slowly became more eminent among other worldwide wizarding communities, and shared lunch breaks and drinks after work became a commonplace occurrence for the two. It was only when Draco realized that he was slowly falling for her that he considered that perhaps fleeing England and living to be able to legally drink Fire Whiskey hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had.

It was incredibly stupid, of course; he knew that. She probably thought of him as a stupid brother, bickered with him in the same manner, and was - by this time - engaged to sodding Weasley. His solution to The Problem (as he had privately dubbed it) was to sleep with as many women as possible in order to get The Problem off his mind, for which Granger teased him mercilessly, asking if there was perhaps something he was trying to prove.

“I'm trying to prove that I'm not in love with you,” he was constantly tempted to snap back, but always refrained because she was smiling and he'd hate to wipe the glow off her face, and yes, he was that besotted, thank you _very_ much.

Potter knew, of course, because Potter was a genius and Potter was a saint and Potter was perceptive and Potter saved the whole world. He never said anything to Draco, never hinted that he might have told Weasley, or worse, Granger, but always gave Draco a look when the friendly banter between Draco and Granger bordered on subtle flirting.

After working alongside the Muggleborn for seven years, their friendship was stronger than ever, despite The Problem, and after all their efforts, the work load was finally beginning to ease. This was, however, when the ring appeared on Granger's finger, various bridal magazines began to pile up in Granger's in-tray, courtesy of Weasley's mother, and Draco figured that then was a good as time as any to try and seduce her and stop her marrying the Weasel. This, he knew, was probably selfish. After all, who was he to try and break up her happy-ever-after with her childhood sweetheart, but Draco Malfoy was nothing if not a selfish, spoilt brat who wanted at least a fair chance in making a play for her.

 

ii.

“I feel as if my whole life has been leading to this one moment.   
And as I touch your shoulder tonight this room has  
become the centre of the entire universe.  
So what do I do? I've got a slightly sick feeling in my stomach   
Like I'm standing on top of a very high building oh yeah.”   
\- F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A.L.L.E.D. L.O.V.E., by Pulp.

\--

The beginnings of a long, hot summer could be felt in the air. It was late May, and already the freshness of spring was morphing into something too close and smothering. A date had been set for the wedding, spurring Draco's debate into action, deciding that while the Weasel was away working, and he alone with Granger: it was as good a chance as any to try it on with her.

They were in a Muggle bar after work, discussing the bumbling antics of the newly-elected Muggle Prime Minister working with the Minister of Magic in an attempt to salve the rift between the wizarding and Muggle communities of Great Britain. Granger was trying to be sympathetic toward the Prime Minister who, up until the 11th of May, had been completely unaware of the wizarding community and was now having to try and deal with a horde of condescending Ministry officials.

“Come on. Admit it, Granger, he's just a stupid twat,” Draco told her, adopting that nasty tone he usually reserved for idiots at work, his father and her friends.

“Oh, I'd like to see you try and run a country on top of discovering that a whole other world exists that you didn't know about! He's doing the best he can,” she protested, waving her Malibu and coke around animatedly as she spoke.

“Oh, you just feel sorry for him because he has a little baby and you're all broody,” Draco argued back, smirking.

“Ophh,” she huffed. “Sod off.”

“That your only comeback, Granger? Great Circe, how much have you had to drink? We've only been here an hour.”

“Not much, we have work tomorrow, and I still need to floo that horrid Austrian man. I'll need my wits about me for him!” she exclaimed in a somewhat accusatory tone; as if it was his fault the 'horrid Austrian' had personally requested to work with her.

“Yeah, yeah,” he answered in a tiresome voice, before reaching for their jackets on the empty stool beside them. “Come on, I'll walk you home. If you try Apparating, you'll probably get yourself splinched, you clumsy idiot.”

The walk from the pub to the small house that Granger shared with Weasley was largely uneventful and rather comfortable with Granger leaning against Draco's arm for support, a little more tipsy than she would have liked to admit.

By the time they reached the small semi it was still daylight, and Muggle automobiles rushed noisily past, thrusting dirt from the roadside into dusty swirls in the air. Hardly the most romantic of settings, Draco mused, but decided it would have to do.

“See you at work tomorrow then,” Granger told him brightly, fumbling to get her keys into the Yale lock. Draco shook his head, amused by her affection for the odd Muggle items in her life. He took the keys easily from her and slid them into the lock, turning it quietly. 

They were standing very closely, both next to the door, and Draco could feel her sweet breath puff against his cheek. Suddenly, being a gentleman and opening the door for her had fled his mind, and all he could think about was her sweet face and his plan of action. “Granger,” he whispered huskily, his voice barely audible above the noise of the traffic rushing past. “Granger, I...” He trailed off as she looked up at him, blinking slowly. Giving up on words, Draco lowered and inclined his head slightly, moving his lips towards hers.

For one almost perfect second her lips were softly beneath his and he was kissing her. Her lips bowed beneath his and her mouth slid open just enough for his tongue to press wetly against hers. But, like all perfect things, it couldn't last. Granger drew away from him, her open eyes full of sorrow that told him everything he didn't want to hear. “Oh Draco,” she whispered, and he feared if she raised her voice it might shatter his breaking heart. “I'm engaged, I'm-”

“Right, of course, I gotcha” he replied hastily, stepping back and shoving his hands in the pockets of his robes. “Little bit too much to drink, you know? I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

He hurried off, not daring to turn back and look at her lest he do something even more stupid. 

 

iii.

“We been friends for a long time, a very close friend of mine  
Love you like you was mine, but respect a thin line  
I love you like you was mine, think about you all the time  
Very close friend of mine, but respect a thin line”  
\- Thin Line, by Jurassic 5, featuring Nelly Furtado.

\--

In his head, the early evening of the twenty-seventh of May became known as The Incident, an indelible part of The Problem, and what he thought might have been one of the biggest fuck ups of his life.

The next morning at work he was stand-offish but polite. She was busy most of the day with the Austrian official, so there were only a few times he had to avoid the sorrowful, pity-filled glances she sent in his direction. He began to call her Hermione, for no other reason than he thought perhaps if he changed what he called her it might change how he felt. He knew it was futile.

As time passed and summer bled on, they eased back into a recognizable friendship, tinged only on occasion with awkwardness. The Incident was never discussed, but sometimes he would find Hermione looking sadly at him when she caught him not-so-surreptitiously staring at her. They bantered and argued and laughed as they once had, but Draco felt strangely bereft of her, missing the closeness that seemed to have evaporated the moment his lips grazed hers.

The wedding was scheduled for mid-August, and Draco did not hesitate in his decision to go. He knew she'd never forgive him if he didn't – after all, they were still friends – and he couldn't bear to add another Issue to The Problem. He sat in the middle of an aisle, squashed between three squabbling red-headed children and a scowling Pansy Parkinson, whose presence Draco couldn't quite find reason for. He stood solemnly, duly watching the ceremony, but unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes as Weasley stumbled over his vows and trembled as he thrust the ring on Hermione's delicate finger.

At the reception, hours after Hermione had shared the first dance with the groom and then countless more and laughs with all of her adoring guests, Draco finally cut in to dance with her. As they swayed across the dance floor, he told her, “You look beautiful today, Hermione.”

“Thank you,” she replied quietly, meeting his level gaze. She paused for a long moment, looking deep in contemplation, and then she spoke. “Draco, I-”

“Don't,” he cut her off, almost immediately. “You love him and you're happy. I don't matter.”

“Don't say that, you mean the wo-” she began, but was cut off again, this time by her new husband.

“Mind if I have a dance with my wife, Malfoy?” Weasley asked him, almost civilly.

Draco stepped back, releasing his hold of Hermione, almost trembling as he did so. He was proud of the control he'd so far managed to display, but he resigned to the fact that it was a probably a good idea Weasley had cut in. He watched dismally as Weasley swept Hermione away from him, eyeing him with contempt moments later when she laughed lightly at something he said.

Sulking, Draco walked over to the bar where Potter stood, looking as though he was waiting for him. “What do you want?” Draco snarled.

“Thank you,” Potter replied strangely, and pushed a Fire whiskey across the bar in Draco's direction.

“What for?” Draco asked, knocking the drink back nonetheless.

“Not ruining today for her. I think she deserves a happy ending after that war, they both do. Even if...” Potter trailed off, and finished his own drink.

“If what?” Draco asked.

Potter sighed, and looked as though he was debating whether or not to share whatever piece of priceless wit his brain had cooked up. Finally, he spoke. “Sometimes I wonder whether Ron is enough for her.”

Draco did not reply, but watched the happy couple dance across the floor, slowing to a gentle sway and kissing softly to the applause of guests and well-wishers.

When he looked at Potter again, the man was watching the couple with a look that Draco guessed graced his own features only a few seconds earlier. Smirking slightly, Draco wondered if Potter had his own little secret he was hiding from the bride and groom; that, or he just thrived on misery.

 

iv.

“Still a little bit of your taste in my mouth  
Still a little bit of you laced with my doubt  
Still a little hard to say what's going on”  
\- Cannonball, by Damien Rice.

\--

Summer faded to autumn, and the unfinished conversation on the dance floor between Draco and Hermione remained unfinished, and Draco rather thought it for best. He had eventually conceded that Potter was right – well, it was bloody Potter after all - and that Hermione deserved some happiness. It did not stop him wanting her though, or make his feelings for her lessen.

Draco had rather naively hoped, before The Incident, that after he confronted her things would be resolved. She would fall into his arms and they would live happily ever after, or she would turn him down and he would move on. However his feelings lingered on, deepening rather than lessening. The fact that Hermione seemed to be absorbed in complete marital bliss did not make him feel any better either. That was, of course, until one evening in early October when a soft 'pop' in his hallway marked the beginning of a set of irrevocable changes between the two of them.

Grumbling, Draco made his way into the hallway to find Hermione slouched against his wall, a watery smile plastered on her face. “Hermione,” he began, “what's going on?”

“Nothing,” she replied, smiling. “Just thought I would come and see – oops!” As she pushed off the wall and made her way towards him, she tripped over her own feet. 

Draco was next to her in seconds, catching her before she could fall and hurt herself. He held her close to him to be able to better support her weight as she slumped heavily against him, resting more on him than she was her own feet. They hadn't been in such close proximity since they danced at her wedding, and this time they were completely alone. Draco watched Hermione for what felt like an impossibly long time, and she finally looked up and met his gaze. “Draco,” she slurred softly. She reached up to touch his face, her hand gently brushing his jaw. “Oh, Draco.”

Lost in the incredible depths of her eyes, Draco let himself forget for a moment that she was married, drunk, and behaving very uncharacteristically, and bent his head, leaning forward to kiss her. This kiss was more successful than the last, to say the least. Hermione responded enthusiastically, pressing her lips and tongue against his, and bringing her hands from his face to loop around his neck. They kissed furiously and wetly, Draco enjoying the sensation he had been anticipated for years, and Hermione responded as arduously. Losing himself in the taste and touch of her, Draco backed her against the wall, crushing against her and relishing the feeling of her body pressed tightly against his.

“I want you to fuck me, Draco,” she whispered dirtily in his ear.

In another situation those words would have instantly turned Draco on, but something felt wrong. Cursing himself for it, he pulled away from her, holding her upper arms to keep her at bay. “What in Merlin's name is going on, Granger?” he asked, slipping back into his old name for her in the heated moment.

She stared at him for a moment, looking somewhat dazed and confused – an expression he wasn't used to seeing on her. “I...” she began, then faltered and started again, her eyes blinking back tears. “I want you.”

Draco's face screwed up in anger. “No,” he spat at her. “No, Weasley's fucked up and you want to use me as revenge. You think because... because I have _feelings_ for you, I'd be easy to hop into bed with and then discard again tomorrow. I am not your bloody toy.”

Hermione's tears spilt from her eyes, but her expression turned to anger. “Oh, of course, I should have known. There's no point in having me now that Ron and I are over, no need to try it on with the nasty little Mudblood now that it won't score you points against Harry or Ron!”

“What?” Draco raged, releasing Hermione's arms and pacing the hallway, so furious that he feared he might strike out at her if he remained in such close proximity. “I haven't said that word in years, and you fucking know that. My feelings for you are in no way linked to your idiot husband, they are for you alone, absolutely and with no equivocations. If you are too sodding blind to see that, then you don't deserve the credit people give that mind of yours. I love you, yeah? _Love_ you. And you treat me like this – as part of some revenge because you've encountered your first little trouble in paradise? Get the fuck out of my house,” he roared, slamming his palm against the wall in anger.

Hermione fumed at him, her eyes ablaze. “You are the stupid one, Draco. And you're just as bad as him; too afraid and cowardly to admit the truth until I confront you. You make me sick.”

“Don't make your little squabble with him about me, Granger, I am this close-” he threatened, stalking closer to her before she cut him off.

“To what? Hexing me?” she yelled, turning her head up to meet his angry stare as she closed in on him. “You're probably enjoying my hurting like this enough as it is – think I deserve it for turning you down, do you? You probably knew what he was doing to me, didn't tell me... you're _her_ best friend!”

“Knew what?” Draco shouted, angry and exasperated.

“That he's fucking Pansy!” she screamed, voice breaking as big, angry tears dripped down her face.

Draco's resolve changed instantly at her obvious heartbreak. He's assumed the couple had had a squabble, an argument, but nothing this serious. He berated himself for his own behaviour, especially because she'd been in an emotionally tumultuous state to begin with, and drunk to boot. “Granger,” he began, reaching slowly for her.

“Don't you dare,” she barked, and slapped him hard across the face as he moved towards her. The sound of flesh hitting flesh bulleted loudly through the hallway, and the shock on Draco's face galvanized her anger into heartbreak. “Oh God,” she sobbed. “God.”

“C'mere,” he urged as he wrapped his arms around her and they sank to the floor. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, and rubbed her back soothingly. He suspected he was some kind of idiot for comforting her despite her obvious attempt to use him to get back at her adulterous husband, but he loved her, and couldn't desert her when she was in pain. “Cry it out, Granger, I'm here.”

Harsh, broken sobs broke from her lips and she clutched at him, tears spilling down her face. “Oh God,” she choked. “Oh Draco, I shouldn't have... Oh God, I thought he... and I didn't want... God, I'm sorry.”

“Sshh, I've got you. Sshhh.”

Lifting her sob-wracked form, Draco carried her into the living room, and sat them both on the sofa. They fell asleep, emotionally drained, wrapped around each other.

The next morning they woke, still entangled, and faced each other, speaking in hushed, awkward tones. Hermione apologized for her behaviour, swore off Fire Whiskey, asked Draco to inform their director she'd be taking a few days personal leave, and left with very little preamble.

Draco said very little during the exchange, still trying to process the events of the previous evening. She hadn't commented on his profession of love, and he considered whether this was insulting, or perhaps for the best.

 

v.

“And I want to make him  
Take back all that he took from you  
Yes I do  
And I want to rip his heart out  
Just for hurting you  
And I want to break his mind down  
Yes I do”  
\- Just For, by Nickelback.

\--

Three days later, Granger returned to work, looking every inch her normal and collected self. She told Draco very quietly that she and Weasley were divorcing, and apologized again for her outburst earlier that week. They did not speak on personal matters again, nor joke, not talk at all except for work-related matters. He considered again, briefly, if she even remembered his profession of love, but then decided that train of thought was only going to lead to more hurt.

That evening found Draco drinking alone in the bar he and Granger had frequented. The bar was reasonably busy, so when Draco felt a body stand beside him, he did not think to look up, assuming it was just another patron.

He was surprised then, when an annoyingly familiar voice asked, “Are you sleeping with her?”

Draco turned in surprise to find Potter looking at him with a tight-lipped, angry expression on his face. Draco shrugged. “What's it to you if I am?”

Potter ignored the question and looked intently at Draco, the anger in his face morphing into something Draco felt uncomfortable in placing. “She's been staying with me,” Potter eventually told him. “Turned up at mine Thursday morning, explained how she'd found Ron and Pansy. She won't tell me where she was in between finding them and turning up at my flat. Something tells me you're involved.”

Draco didn't reply. He knew Potter was holding something back; Potter usually did, and he didn't want to incriminate either Granger or himself. Slowly, he shrugged again, before ordering another drink and walking away from Potter to sit at a recently vacated table.

Potter followed hurriedly, and set his own drink down on the table as he sat down opposite Draco. “Ron's not stupid, you know. Not as stupid as everyone seems to think.”

Draco snorted into his lager. “Cheating on Granger is not what I'd call an intelligent move, myself.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I mean, he knew how she felt about you. He never suspected you felt the same way,” Harry shook his head. “I suppose he underestimated her appeal to other men, but he knew how she felt about you. Bit hard to miss, now I think about it.”

Draco shook his head. “Potter, what in Merlin's name are you talking about?”

Potter blinked. Then spat, “God help her, she has _feelings_ for you. 'Course she's loyal to a fault, and after she and Ron got together she wasn't ever going to leave him for... well, you.”

“No,” Draco argued. “No. I don't believe you. You're an annoying sod, Potter, but at their wedding - their bloody wedding - you told me she was happy. You said it, you! And you're Potter. You don't bloody lie, 'specially about your mates.”

“I didn't know!” Potter replied. “I'm not all-seeing and all-knowing! Hermione and Ron have both cried on my shoulder this week; that's the only reason I know now! God, you three just needed to be locked in a room a year ago to argue this out. I never asked to be a mediator.”

“You've still not explained to me why Weasley has been having it off with Pans,” Draco said after a moment's silence.

Potter shrugged. “He couldn't really explain or justify it. I think they've been seeing each other on and off since the war began. Things just got... out of hand.”

The two men were silent for a moment, each taking large, cautious gulps of their drinks to avoid the silence. Finally, Draco spoke. “I didn't touch her... well, I didn't sleep with her anyway. She was drunk - quite literally threw herself at me. I figured out what was going on fairly quickly.”

“How quickly?”

“Quickly enough. You don't need to pull the big brother routine on me, Potter. She turned up drunk, we kissed, we argued, she cried, we fell asleep. On the sofa,” Draco said, assuring Potter. 

“Right, thanks,” Potter replied tightly.

“What you should thank me for is not Apparating round to their house and killing Weasley. I want to hurt him for what he did to her. A lot.” 

“Yeah, well I don't really see Hermione appreciating that, do you?”

“Why'd you think Weasley's not in St. Mungo's?” Draco replied.

 

vi.

“Yeah you're worth the trouble and you're worth the pain  
And you're worth the worry, I would do the same  
If we all went back to another time  
I will love you over  
I will love you”  
\- Like Dylan In The Movies, by Belle and Sebastian.

\--

Autumn flinched into winter, and the icy spells of January and February only served to imitate the tension between Draco and Granger. They were still on awkward but polite terms; conversing in the office, and occasionally over a meal when work demanded they met with clients for lunch, but otherwise they saw very little of each other. No longer did they share slightly tipsy evenings at the pub opposite the Ministry, nor did she drag him to watch a film at the pictures in one of the busier pedestrian areas of Muggle London. They kept their distance, behaving as colleagues and nothing more, and it was slowly driving Draco to the brink of madness.

Spring bloomed, and Draco's mood was only a little improved when he heard of a rather nasty incident involving Weasley and a Devil's Snare. It made the headlines of the Prophet owing to the near-fatal wounds the redhead received, but the following day it was only a mere column on page five, and Weasley was said to be in a critical, but stable condition.

Following the report on the accident, Draco found Granger to be noticeably quieter at work, even on top of the frosty politeness they had been observing around each other. But Draco knew Granger well enough to know her quietness was not the only repercussion for her of Weasley's injuries, and that if left alone long enough she'd probably start emulating Potter and manage to convince herself the whole ordeal was entirely her fault.

It was this that finally brought Draco to Granger's door two nights after the accident, armed with a box of Milk Tray, a bottle of red wine and one of her favourite Muggle films.

She looked a sight when she opened the door; her hair was a bedraggled mess and she was dressed in a pair of girls boxers and a shirt that looked suspiciously like one she had “liberated” from his wardrobe two winters earlier.

“Oh, Granger,” he said in a tender tone that he hadn't exposed to her in months. “Look at you, you silly thing. C'mere.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and guided her back into the flat, asking for no invitation for himself.

They stood in her flat, quietly, oddly, with Draco's arm wrapped around Granger's shoulders. Draco relished the touch of her, having been denied it too long, even if it was just her idle stance in his embrace. She still felt the same, fitted well against him, and Draco realized just how much he'd missed her.

Eventually and slightly awkwardly, they broke away from one another. Draco pushed the box of chocolates and film into her hands. “I just thought you might, y'know, need cheering up. I know you hate him, but I know you and what you're like...”

Draco inwardly winced. What was it about this woman that gave her the ability to turn him into a squirming idiot?

“Thank you,” she said gratefully as she accepted the box of chocolates, freeing up Draco's hands to dig around in the cabinet for wine glasses. “But you needn't have bothered Draco, I-”

“It's me, Granger,” Draco cut in, regaining his composure a little. “You needn't pretend. Come on, we'll watch your film, get a bit tipsy, you can ogle that bloke you like in it and then have a bitch about Weasley. Sound good to you?” 

Granger's face broke into a smile at his words, and she accepted the proffered glass of wine from him. Inwardly, Draco relaxed. He knew after barely speaking for months his arrival on her doorstep was a bit of a gamble, but her smile told him, after a few awkward, unsure moments, that he was more welcome than not.

They laughed and bickered and bantered throughout the film, and Draco felt himself slipping back into the friendship he thought he'd lost. They had started off at opposite ends of the sofa, but somehow, by the end of the film, Draco found Granger cuddled up next to him, tucked under his arm with her legs sprawled across his lap.

When the film finished, the credits rolled past to reveal the start-up screen on her film-player. The lights in the room were low, so the yellowy picture on the screen gave the room a warm, honeyed glow.

“I missed you,” Granger confided to him quietly. “I know I see you all the time, but I mean… just this. Spending time together.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Draco replied. “I don't want to fluff things up between us again. I want to be your friend again, Granger. I even promise to be nice to Potter.”

Granger looked up at him, her eyes solemn. “Is that what you want?”

“Not really. Potter's a bit of a knob, but I'll be nice to him for you,” Draco replied, smiling at her. He felt a little unnerved by her sobriety, and didn't want to upset the delicate balance of their re-found friendship.

“No, I mean, friends. Is that what you want? Do you want more than…?” Granger trailed off, darting her eyes downwards and shifting uncomfortably against him. “After what I did, I could understand why you perhaps wouldn't want to, but I mean, that night... what you said... how you felt for me...” 

Draco was momentarily stunned. Was she saying she wanted more than his friendship? In the cold winter that stretched out behind him he had longed for anything for her – her friendship was all he dared hope for, despite his want for more. Now, just as spring had bloomed, so did his hope for something more. He knew it was dangerous ground; she was in the midst of a divorce and still hurting, but Draco didn't want to lose another chance to be with her.

“I haven't not loved you in years,” he finally told her, his desire to be finally honest with her overwhelming any need to not be melodramatic. “I always want you, Granger. Always love you. I don't even know how not to love you any more.”

“Oh, Draco,” she said softly, slipping around on the sofa to face him. She lifted her hand to cup his face, and the other came to rest on his chest. “Draco...” 

Slowly, they edged closer, lips hesitantly bumping and eyes closing in a nervous flicker. The kiss was sweet and soft, a tentative expression of what more was to come. Draco pulled Granger onto his lap, pulling her closer as the kiss became more heated. His hands locked in her hair, holding her against him and delighting in the feel of her against him.

Draco knew things were not going to be easy immediately; there were still questions unanswered and things to be dealt with, but when he held her he felt like he could face anything, especially if she was by his side.

\-- fin


End file.
